Losing Myself
by Dryad Fall
Summary: This was written for WIKTT's Pensieve Challenge...Can someone get addicted to memories in a pensieve?


A large crate floated before her as she held her wand out. She slowly navigated the darkened granite slabs that created the steps down into the dungeons. Grimly, she opened the door to her new office.

_He knew it would be me_, she thought before shutting up the sad voice in her head. _I'm here to do a job. I will not fail_, she thought even more forcefully.

The room hadn't changed. There were still large jars of ugly, strange and disturbing creatures in odd colored liquids on the shelves behind his desk. The dark wood of the furniture was dull—the house elves had been barred upon his death.

His death. She didn't want to think about it. It was so wrong. They had put their feelings on hold, saying it wasn't safe; that once the war was over, they would see where their relationship could go.

The crate she had been levitating thumped to the ground, bringing her back.

_Bloody hell, I'm not ready for this._ She drew a deep breath, and attempted to pull herself together. He was the last Snape. He left his wealth to Albus, but his personal belongings, he left to her. It made sense, she guessed, Many of his belongings were potions related, and after having been his apprentice, he knew she would appreciate many of the pieces.

So here she was, back at Hogwarts again. About to teach his potions class, live in his quarters, research in his private lab. She let herself give a small smirk of self-derision; she was even wearing the black robes he had always been so fond of. She did it to honor his memory—there were few who were truly mourning his passing, so she took it onto herself. The more she considered it, the more she found it fitting. The dungeons fit her morosity in a way no other place did. It was just too bad that the place was saturated with his presence and her memories of him.

* * *  
She finished packing her meager belongings. Most of her possessions had been lost when Death Eaters had attacked her parents home. She had been at Grimmauld Place at the time. It was one of the few times she realized how she had failed. Her logical side told her there was no such thing as impregnable wards, and she had used the strongest ones at her disposal, but the Death Eaters managed to get to her parents anyway.

She fell exhausted into his bed. Even after the few months since he'd been there, it still smelled of herbs and smoke. She breathed deep and let her mind forget that he wasn't there any longer.

Hermione woke a few hours later, crying. The nightmares always came, no matter what she did or took. She got up and walked into his study. She looked for something to read, something simple enough to let her mind relax, so perhaps she could get a bit more sleep. She smiled when she saw an old copy of "Hogwarts; a History" She pulled it carefully from the shelf, when she realized how truly old it was. She opened the cover, and found that it was one of the few original copies, handwritten by the founders themselves. Carefully she turned the pages, reading the story in the old English. It was when she came upon Godric Gryffindor's treatise on "A Goode and Propre Gryffindor" that she found it.

A letter. Well, letters, really. They seemed to have been shrunk to fit within the book. She carefully put the book down before pulling her wand out and removing the shrinking spell.

The top letter had her name on it, carefully scripted in his forceful slash.

_My Dearest Hermione,__  
__I should take the time to call you that, for if you are reading this, I never had the chance. I wish more than anything I was there for you. That we had given ourselves the chance, but then, fate has never been exceedingly kind to me. I am thankful at the least that she allowed me your presence, if not your love._

She held the letter, her body trembling hard. _You had it, Severus, I swear to you, you have it still._ She sniffed, and roughly wiped her hand across her eyes.

_I knew if you survived, that Albus would offer you the position of Potions Mistress. You are brilliant, and I know you will do well. ___

_It is strange to be sitting here writing this. You have fallen asleep at the workbench again. (I keep telling you to find a bed, but I know that you won't.) You look so content in your sleep. I could watch you like this forever, but that I would miss the fire that shines out of your eyes.___

_If you are reading this, then you must be hurting. If I could I would take it away, but it is beyond my ability. I did think of something to help you though. Go to my personal ingredient cupboard, and use the spell, occultus armarium*. A door in the back will disappear and you will find my pensieve. ___

_I use this often, especially when I have to meet with the Dark Lord. You, only you, have managed to make me feel. I knew I couldn't hide that from him; so my memories of you I would store in here. If he knew of my feelings for you, you would have been in great danger, as would have I. I did what I had to in order to protect you. I wish it could have been more.___

_Perhaps you don't want to know how your old professor lusted over you silently, how he watched over you with pride in your accomplishments. But if you truly did feel for me, then relive these memories for me, with me. And know that I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love always.___

_Forever,__  
__Severus_

She carefully folded the letter, before her tears ruined it. Leaving the rest of the letters on the desk for later, she turned back to the bedroom. She took his teaching robes out of the wardrobe, and wrapped them around herself letting the scent of him enfold her as she fell into the bed.

* * *

It was several weeks into the summer, but still more than a month before students were to return. Hermione was functioning, but those who knew her were distressed at the lack of passion she had always held for her learning. There didn't seem to be anything that would shake her out of it. Of the other staff, only Albus and Poppy knew of her feelings for Severus, and neither of them was able to pull her out of her deep melancholia. Flitwick especially was concerned; he'd never performed a cheering charm that didn't work before.

She had chosen to wait to look in the pensieve. Not because she questioned her feelings, but to see him, and know she could never touch him again would be torture. She knew everyone was worried about her when Molly Weasley showed up at the door.

"Hermione?"

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley. What can I do for you?" Hermione replied tersely.

"Everyone is worried about you, Hermione. You stopped answering the boys' owls, and the professors tell me that you barely join them in the Great Hall for meals, and when you do, you hardly eat."

"The war is over. What I do or don't do no longer matters. It is my business," her voice brooked no argument. She gave a sort of internal half smirk at how like Severus she was sounding.

"Very well, Dear. But know you have friends if you want to talk…we all worry about you."

"I know, Molly," Hermione replied, not unkindly. Indeed she did, but nearly everyone had made it quite obvious that they didn't miss Severus, so how could they understand that she felt as though someone had ripped out her soul?

Gods, she missed him. She moved to her desk after she shut the door behind Molly. She picked up the now dog-eared letter and opened it again. _Occultus Armarium_ she reread, and found herself moving toward the private supply cupboard.

The hidden back shimmered like a fog and disappeared as though bright sunlight had found it. In the granite crypt sat a pensieve of solid lapis*. The deep blue stone reflected in the deep silver shimmer of memories stored there.

Hermione clenched her jaw at the sudden trembling, not wanting to spill a single memory as she lifted it out of its hiding spot. She walked carefully across the room, and placed it on the desk. Foggy half images could almost be made out in the surface. She took a deep, steadying breath, and touched her nose to the surface.

A jerk in her center, much like the feeling she had from using a portkey and she felt herself unceremoniously dropped on her bottom against the hard floor.

She was in, of all places, Myrtle's bathroom. She could hear herself and the boys working…on the polyjuice potion? _What was he doing here?_ She remembered this night. It was the night before it was to be completed. They had checked on it, and chattering away, they each snuck out to return to Gryffindor tower. She looked around. She saw him remove a cloak, and looked up at him.

He looked surprised, and moved toward their cauldron. A smile flickered across his face as he saw the perfect consistency and color. "Well done, Miss Granger." He murmured, then replaced the cloak and left. The tension that she had come to recognize in his face wasn't there quite as harshly, and she could see what sort of man he could have been had it not been for all the efforts he contributed to in the War.

_Wait a minute…he knew! _

She felt herself spinning, and this time found herself in the potions lab. It must have been fifth year, because Neville was still next to her. She learned much later that she had been assigned to sit next to him for the soul purpose of trying to keep him from blowing everyone up. She certainly learned enough to speed her apprenticeship, having seen all the different ways potions could go wrong and how to fix them if possible.

She'd have to remember to thank Neville for that.

Many more images of her school years flew by. Stolen glances in her direction that she had not noticed then, that were not necessarily of a professorly nature. His panic and concern when, in her seventh year, Crabbe and Goyle thought to kidnap her from Hogsmeade. It was a short, rather painless kidnapping, all things considered, but seeing how frantic he was when he was alone or with Albus suggested that it must have been a turning point for him. And he blamed himself for not protecting her.

She saw images of the strain growing on him, and memories she remembered. How she noticed how he paid her attention now that she had graduated. How morose he was that summer, because she spent one last month with her family before she began her apprenticeship. And it was truly the last summer, since that Halloween, Death Eaters had razed her childhood home to the ground.

Severus was the one to tell her, and that memory came up. She had fallen to her knees in his lab, and he collapsed right next to her, pulling her to him, and rubbing her back. She hadn't known it then, but seeing from the pensieve, she could see the tears in his own eyes at her raw sobbing.

Images swirled again, of their working together, his smiles at her hypotheses, at her frustration, at her stubbornness. Images of their arguments, of their brainstorming sessions, and even one bout of their drinking together.

It was the most relaxed she had felt since he had gone.

She felt herself settling into the rhythm of the memories, not always linear, but thoughts seemed to provoke them. And as she thought about it, she realized which memory it was that she truly wanted to see.

They had been working on a potion to block the Crucatius curse. It had been a stressful couple of months when they finally had a potion they believed would work. The potion had just turned a pale green; the color their research had suggested when Hermione had jumped up, squealing in her joy. The memory Hermione rushed to Severus, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. She watched as Severus stiffened then with a groan unbent, wrapping his own arms around her and returning the kiss with a desperate passion.

Hermione closed her eyes. She could practically feel his soft sensuous lips against her own again. Her fingers raised to her lips in silent testament to the memory.

"So this is where you have been," a very real Albus spoke to her.

"Hello, Albus," she nodded warily.

"You've been missing for 3 days, you know," he added gently.

Hermione didn't care. She wasn't leaving the Pensieve.

"Come, with me, Dobby will fix you up a lovely Bouillabaisse. I know it is one of your favorites."

"Severus and I had planned on going to the coast of France for the summer, after the war was over," she murmured.

"Hermione, you are not the only one who lost someone in the war," he tenderly reminded her.

"Maybe not. But everyone else has someone to share their pain. No one truly misses Severus, Albus. No one but me."

Albus' eyes lost their customary twinkle. "I resent that, young lady. Severus was like a son to me."

"Yet you …YOU LET HIM GO!" She cried, rushing him, and hammering her hands against his chest. He withstood her assault, knowing to a certain extent that she was right.

She crumpled at his feet, continuing to weep. "I'm not leaving, Albus."

"Then you'll die."

"Albus, look around. I already am."

"I'll be back, Hermione. I won't let you do this to yourself."

She nodded morosely. "Do what you have to do. I'll do what I have to do." She turned her back to him, and with a sigh, he disappeared.

And she once again lost herself in his memories.

A/N * Occultus Armarium- Latin (or a fair approximation) Concealed Cupboard  
*It is said that Lapis helps one understand the mind.  
.#mystical  
The Original "Hogwarts: a History" and the idea of hiding a letter therein was borrowed from Corazon's wonderful story, "Does that Mean Love to You?"


End file.
